


Bluebell

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry loves Frodo like this and would love him like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bluebell

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Frodo’s _beautiful_. He was beautiful when he was little, running through Buckland with Merry, in summer dresses his parents forced him into, and he was beautiful when he came to Hobbiton and Bilbo let him wear trousers and cover up his chest, and he’s beautiful now in Bag End, crushed under Merry with no clothes at all. Merry keeps trying to pull him onto all fours— _doggy style_ , Pippin calls it—but Merry just keeps getting too _excited_ and crushes Frodo down. He grinds his cock hard into Frodo’s hot channel, slick and snug around him, tight but loosened from want. Frodo’s dripping wet, like he always is when Merry slips inside him, and sometimes Merry just has to pause to catch his breath and remember this is real. 

Then he pulls Frodo back up, pushes Frodo onto hands and knees, panting like a pig. Merry’s still buried to the hilt. He waits until the angle’s good before he dares sliding halfway out, only to slam back in, one arm next to Frodo’s and the other wrapping around Frodo’s chest. Merry grabs his sloped breasts and squeezes around one nipple, so that Frodo cries out and tosses his head back against Merry’s shoulder. Merry fucks him harder and groans, “I _love_ your small tits,” because he can’t stop himself from feeling and bragging over Frodo’s body. Frodo’s so _pretty_ , whimpering and squirming around Merry’s cock, flushed from head to toe. Merry bites the tip of his ear and groans, “ _Frodo._ ”

Frodo breathes, “ _Merry_.” He sounds wrecked, like he always does in sex, like he’s too small and fragile for it, even though he’s the bravest and smartest of them all—he’s gone the farthest out of the Shire, knows the most strange creatures, knows the most strange _things_. Then he comes home, bright-eyed and reeking of exotic brew, and crumples under Merry’s touch right onto Bilbo’s old white linens. 

Merry’s already lasted longer than he thought. Right through breakfast, right through brunch. They’ll have a double lunch to make up for it. He’s been pounding into Frodo’s body all morning, taking him in all different positions, eager to devour every angle that he can; Frodo’s gorgeous no matter how Merry bends him. He always feels good, tastes good, opens up for Merry and clings to Merry’s shoulders or the sheets, panting and moaning louder than any proper hobbit should. They’re Brandybucks at heart, and they fuck like animals. 

And when Merry comes, he still doesn’t want to—always wants to fill Frodo up but also wants to _go on forever_. He grabs Frodo tight against him, collapsing in the sheets again, heavy atop Frodo’s scorching body. Frodo’s spine arches at an awkward angle, his knees trying to hold his ass up to keep it attached to Merry’s cock while Merry pounds everything home. Frodo takes the herbs that most hobbit lasses do—when they’re not wanting little ones, anyway—and Merry spills himself without worry—even though that might be nice, someday, to have little ones running about with Frodo’s perfect looks and eager minds and spirits bursting with adventure. Merry digs his face into Frodo’s shoulder and groans while he comes, humping his friend with loud, lewd slapping noises and a raunchy pop of fluid. 

Frodo follows after. Merry can always tell when he does, because he tightens—whether Merry’s in his pussy or his ass—and he screams and he writhes, and he’ll try to say Merry’s name, but he’ll be too dizzy to do it right. He struggles for air, and then he goes suddenly limp, face turned against the pillow, blank but washed with lust. 

Merry lies atop him, slipping out for comfort, one arm still trapped between him and the mattress. Frodo doesn’t ask Merry to move, so he doesn’t, even though he knows he’s too fat and making them both sweat more. They pant and rest, while the birds sing outside the window.

Finally, he murmurs, because he always wonders and the days are getting closer to Frodo’s birthday, “Are you really going to ask Gandalf this time if you can... if there’s any way to... I don’t even know how to say it. Adjust your body?”

He catches the frown on Frodo’s face, and he kisses the corner of it to chase it away. Frodo smiles, like he always does when he’s kissed, but his eyes are still sad. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then mumbles, “’M sorry.” His face goes all red, redder than it already is. 

It’s Merry’s turn to frown and ask, “Why?”

Frodo shifts awkwardly. “I know you like my body the way it is...”

“I’d like your body any which way,” Merry says honestly. Then, thinking about it—because it is a strange thing to think about, as all those private things ‘good’ hobbits don’t discuss are wont to be—he muses, “Well, I shouldn’t like him to change your face much, but I assume you’re going to leave that be. And even if it did get messed up, mind, you’d still be you, so I’d still love you. I like your tits, but I’d also like them flat just fine.” Will Frodo’s hips change? He supposes it doesn’t really matter. He can’t picture Frodo _not_ being pretty, but he doesn’t have to picture it. If it comes it comes, and he isn’t worried.

But then, he doesn’t have the hard part, and he assures Frodo, “I just want you to be happy.” He kisses Frodo’s cheek again, and the nervousness in Frodo’s eyes hesitates and wanes. They’ve known each other too long to not know the truth when they hear it, and Merry’s known Frodo long enough to know he doesn’t feel fully _right_ , like every hobbit, odd or otherwise, deserves to. Merry leans over more to catch Frodo’s mouth properly, and Frodo kisses him back, finally rolling half onto his side, which pushes Merry off. It makes it easier for them to kiss, facing one another, a mess of limbs and sheets. 

Frodo rubs their noses together and asks, “Will you still fuck me after?”

Merry slaps Frodo’s hip and promises, “Sure; you’ll still have a butt hole.”

Frodo snorts, turning to laugh, and Merry nuzzles into his hair, wanting to drown him in kisses.


End file.
